Tonks Residence - Just After Midnight
The Tonks family cottage sat like a jewel box tucked away in the rolling hills outside London, its Tudor beams and diamond-paned windows glowing warmly against the October night. Inside, the sitting room was a testament to the organized chaos of a loving family—books scattered across every surface, seven-year-old Nymphadora's art projects pinned to the walls, and the faint scent of Andromeda's favorite lavender tea lingering in the air.
Ted Tonks paced nervously in front of the fireplace, his sandy hair disheveled from running anxious fingers through it. At thirty-five, he still had the eager, slightly overwhelmed look of someone who'd married above his station and never quite gotten over his good fortune. His wife Andromeda sat with regal composure in her favorite armchair, her dark hair swept back in an elegant chignon that emphasized her aristocratic Black family bones. At twenty-eight, she possessed the kind of classical beauty that could make grown wizards forget their own names, but tonight her violet eyes were sharp with worry and determination.
Between them, little Nymphadora—"It's Tonks, Dad, just Tonks!"—sat cross-legged on the Persian carpet, her hair cycling through an agitated spectrum of colors like a mood ring made of human curls. Currently it was a nervous purple, matching her mother's eyes as she concentrated on making her face look like various family portraits on the mantelpiece.
"The Patronus said they'd be here soon," Ted muttered, checking his pocket watch for the dozenth time. "Lily said something extraordinary was going to happen, that we had a choice to make—"
"Choices are what got us into this mess in the first place," Andromeda interrupted with characteristic Black family pragmatism. "I chose love over blood purity, you chose me over safety, and now we're sitting in our living room waiting for—"
"The Devil himself, if Lily's message was accurate," Ted finished, his tone caught between disbelief and the kind of weary acceptance that came from seven years of marriage to a Black family rebel.
"Cool!" Tonks chirped, her hair flashing to an excited gold. "I've always wanted to meet someone really famous. D'you think he'll be all red and scary with horns and a pitchfork? Or more like one of those fancy portraits in Mum's old house—all mysterious and brooding?"
"Nymphadora," Andromeda began in that patient tone mothers used when explaining why you couldn't keep the stray dragon you'd found in the garden.
"It's Tonks!" the little girl protested automatically, then brightened. "And anyway, Mum always said the Devil got a bad reputation. Something about family disputes and propaganda, right?"
Ted choked on his tea. "Andromeda, what exactly have you been teaching our daughter about theology?"
"The truth," Andromeda replied with serene certainty. "That winners write the histories, and losers become the villains. The Black family library had quite extensive theological sections, you know. Very illuminating perspectives on the nature of rebellion and authority."
Before Ted could formulate a response to this casual admission that his wife had been providing their seven-year-old with advanced courses in comparative demonology, reality took it upon itself to tear open like expensive fabric.
The dimensional portal that bloomed in their sitting room was a masterpiece of controlled chaos—golden light that seemed to sing with harmonics beyond mortal hearing, space bending and folding like origami made of starlight, and a sense of vast power held in perfect check. It was beautiful, terrible, and utterly impossible by any laws of physics Ted had learned in his Muggle schooling.
"Wicked," Tonks breathed, her hair settling into an awed silver as she scrambled to her feet.
Through the rift stepped Lucifer Morningstar, and Ted's first thought was that the Devil had clearly been misrepresented by centuries of bad publicity. He was tall and lean with the kind of effortless elegance that made bespoke tailors weep with envy, his dark hair perfectly tousled in that way that suggested he'd just stepped off a film set. The suit he wore probably cost more than Ted's annual salary, and when he smiled—which he did immediately upon seeing their stunned expressions—it was with the devastating charm of a man who knew exactly how attractive he was and found the whole thing delightfully amusing.
"Good evening," Lucifer said in that crisp British accent that belonged in BBC dramas and poetry readings, "I do hope we're not interrupting anything important. Though I have to say, this is much more civilized than our last few stops. No exploding doors, no piles of ash, no traumatized Ministry officials cluttering up the place."
Behind him came Mazikeen, moving like liquid shadow in human form. She was beautiful in the way that storms were beautiful—dangerous, unpredictable, and utterly captivating. Her dark eyes swept the room with predatory assessment, cataloging exits and potential weapons with the casual efficiency of someone who viewed violence as a perfectly reasonable solution to most problems.
"Nice place," Maze observed approvingly, her American accent a sharp contrast to Lucifer's refined tones. "Cozy. Defensible. Good sight lines from the windows. I like the knife collection on the mantel—decorative, but functional if you know what you're doing."
"Those are letter openers," Ted said weakly.
"Everything's a weapon if you're creative enough," Maze replied with a grin that showed far too many teeth.
Following them came a growing collection of refugees from the wizarding world. Lily Potter stepped through carrying Harry, her red hair catching the golden light like spun copper. Behind her came Sirius Black, still cradling James's preserved body with infinite care, his aristocratic features set in lines of grief and determination. The Longbottoms followed, Frank looking like a career Auror trying to process the impossible while Alice held Neville with the fierce protectiveness of a mother who'd already seen too much war.
"Lily!" Andromeda rose gracefully, moving to embrace her friend with genuine warmth. "Thank Merlin you're safe. When we heard about the attack—"
"James is dead," Lily said simply, her voice carrying the hollow tone of someone who'd already shed all the tears she had. "Voldemort is dead too. And I'm done, Andromeda. Done with this war, done with letting other people decide my son's fate."
"Oh, darling," Andromeda whispered, pulling Lily into a proper embrace. "I'm so sorry."
Meanwhile, Tonks had apparently decided that standing around being sad was boring and had wandered over to examine the most interesting newcomer with scientific curiosity.
"Are you really the Devil?" she asked Lucifer with the direct approach that only children could manage.
"I prefer Lucifer, actually," he replied, crouching down to her eye level with fluid grace. "And you must be Nymphadora Tonks, the famous Metamorphmagus. Though I suspect you prefer a different name entirely."
"It's Tonks," she said automatically, then brightened. "And you're much more handsome than the pictures in Mum's books. Also less on fire. The books always show devils being on fire."
"Terribly impractical, being on fire all the time," Lucifer agreed solemnly. "Makes it very difficult to maintain proper grooming standards. And suits are expensive—you can't just keep replacing them every time they combust."
Tonks giggled, her hair shifting to a pleased gold. "Are you really here to take us away? Somewhere safe?"
"Only if you want to go," Lucifer said gently. "I'm a great believer in free will, young lady. Everyone gets to choose their own path."
"Even children?" Tonks asked with the kind of piercing insight that made adults uncomfortable.
Lucifer's expression grew more serious, more genuinely caring. "Especially children. You shouldn't have to pay the price for adults' mistakes."
Across the room, Ted was staring at the assembled group with the careful assessment of a man trying to process information that challenged everything he thought he knew about reality.
"So," he said slowly, his Scottish accent thickening slightly under stress, "let me see if I've got this right. Voldemort's dead, the war's over, and you're all planning to leave with... with him?" He gestured somewhat helplessly at Lucifer.
"That's the general idea, yes," Sirius confirmed, his voice carrying that particular blend of aristocratic arrogance and bone-deep weariness that came from too many losses. "Unless you'd prefer to stick around and wait for the next Dark Lord to start recruiting. I hear it's quite fashionable these days—every few decades someone decides they fancy themselves a magical dictator."
"Sirius," Frank Longbottom said tiredly, running a hand through his sandy hair. At twenty-three, he had the steady competence of a career Auror, but tonight he looked older, worn down by too many battles and too many friends lost. "Don't be cruel. Ted's trying to understand."
"Understanding's overrated," Alice added from where she was bouncing a sleepy Neville on her hip. Her petite frame held a core of steel that had made her one of the Order's most effective operatives, and her sharp eyes missed nothing. "What matters is keeping our children safe. Everything else is just... details."
From outside came the sound of multiple Apparitions—sharp cracks that echoed through the quiet countryside like gunshots. Ted moved to peer through the window, his expression growing grim.
"That'll be Remus," he announced. "And Amelia Bones, looks like. They brought company."
"Expected company or unexpected company?" Lucifer asked mildly, though his posture suggested he was ready for either possibility.
"Expected, I think. Lily sent out quite a few Patronus messages tonight."
The front door rattled under a polite but insistent knock, and Remus Lupin's familiar voice called out: "Ted, Andromeda, it's Remus. I've got Amelia and Susan with me. May we come in?"
Ted moved to answer the door while the others arranged themselves more comfortably around the sitting room. Remus entered looking even more disheveled than usual, his prematurely gray hair hanging in his tired eyes and his patched robes speaking to the poverty that came with lycanthropy-based employment discrimination. Behind him came Amelia Bones, looking every inch the competent law enforcement professional despite the late hour and extraordinary circumstances. She carried a sleeping toddler with bubblegum pink hair—little Susan Bones, barely two years old and blissfully unaware of the cosmic significance of the evening's events.
"Lily," Remus said, his voice cracking with emotion as he took in the scene. "I heard about James. I'm so terribly sorry. If there's anything I can do—"
"There is," Lily replied, her voice steady despite the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. "You can come with us. All of you. We're leaving, Remus. This world, this war, all of it."
Remus looked around the crowded sitting room, taking in the supernatural beings, the dimensional portal still shimmering softly in the corner, and the impossible scene of families choosing exile over fighting.
"This is real," he said quietly, not quite a question. "You're actually doing this."
"The war is over," Sirius confirmed, his gray eyes reflecting decades of Black family pride and recent devastating loss. "We won, technically. Voldemort's dead, his Death Eaters are scattered, and the wizarding world is safe for another generation or two. Congratulations all around."
"Then why do you all look like you're attending a funeral?" Amelia asked with the sharp insight that had made her head of Magical Law Enforcement.
"Because we are," Sirius replied flatly. "We're burying the naive belief that good always triumphs, that following orders leads to victory, that sacrifice means something when it's other people doing the dying."
"Sirius," Alice said gently, recognizing the dangerous edge in his voice.
"No, Alice. I'm tired of being diplomatic about this." Sirius's aristocratic features were set in lines of cold fury. "James Potter was the best man any of us ever knew. Brave, loyal, stupid enough to believe in people even when they didn't deserve it. He died following Dumbledore's orders, trusting Dumbledore's judgment about who to trust."
His voice grew quieter, more deadly. "He died because the great Albus Dumbledore convinced him that Peter bloody Pettigrew was a safe choice for Secret Keeper. Because apparently quiet, cowardly Peter was 'unexpected' enough to fool Voldemort."
"Peter betrayed you," Amelia said, putting the pieces together with professional efficiency. "That's how Voldemort found them."
"Peter betrayed us," Lily confirmed, her voice carrying venom that would have impressed a Slytherin. "Sold us out for whatever scraps Voldemort promised him. And now he's dead, Voldemort's dead, and my husband is dead, and I'm supposed to be grateful that the greater good was served."
During this exchange, little Tonks had apparently grown bored with adult conversation and wandered over to examine Harry Potter with scientific curiosity. The fifteen-month-old was awake now, his green eyes bright and alert as he looked around the room with that peculiar awareness very young children sometimes displayed.
"He's got funny hair," Tonks announced with characteristic directness. "All messy like he stuck his finger in a light socket."
"He gets that from his father," Lily said softly, a ghost of a smile crossing her face.
"Can I hold him?" Tonks asked with the kind of hopeful expression that made resistance futile.
"If you're very careful," Lily agreed, settling onto the chintz sofa so Tonks could sit beside her.
As the little girl took Harry in her arms with surprising gentleness, something extraordinary happened. Her hair, which had been cycling through various colors all evening, suddenly settled into a deep black that perfectly matched Harry's unruly locks. More than that, her features began to shift with unconscious precision—the same green eyes, the same stubborn cowlick, the same expression of alert curiosity.
"Blimey," Ted breathed, his eyes wide with wonder and concern. "I've never seen her mimic someone so completely. Usually it's just hair color and maybe basic facial features."
Lucifer's eyebrows rose with genuine interest, his expression shifting from charmed amusement to scholarly fascination. "How very intriguing. Young Nymphadora, how do you feel right now? Anything different from your usual transformations?"
"Warm," Tonks replied without taking her attention off Harry, her voice carrying a wisdom far beyond her seven years. "Like when Mum makes hot chocolate on cold days, but from the inside out. And he feels... familiar. Like we've met before, even though we haven't."
"That would be my essence responding to her metamorphic abilities," Lucifer explained to the increasingly concerned adults. "Harry carries part of my divine nature, and young Nymphadora appears to be... compatible... with that energy. Quite remarkable, actually."
"Compatible how?" Andromeda asked, her voice sharpening with maternal concern and Black family wariness of supernatural entanglements.
"Her abilities are far more sophisticated than simple shape-shifting," Lucifer replied thoughtfully, moving closer to examine the phenomenon. "She's unconsciously adapting to match Harry's nature on a metaphysical level, which suggests she has latent magical gifts that go well beyond what's been documented about Metamorphmagi."
Ted looked like he might need to sit down. "Are you saying our daughter is...?"
"Special? Absolutely. Dangerous? Only to those who threaten the people she cares about. Unique? Beyond question." Lucifer's smile was warm and genuinely delighted. "Young Nymphadora, I need to ask you something rather important. When you hold Harry, can you sense things about him? Emotions, perhaps, or images?"
"He misses his daddy," Tonks said immediately, her transformed features reflecting Harry's own expression with uncanny accuracy. "He's sad but trying to be brave for his mummy. And there's something bright inside him, like a star that never goes out."
"The angelic essence," Lucifer murmured, his voice filled with something approaching paternal pride. "She can perceive it directly. That's... well, that's unprecedented in my considerable experience."
"What does this mean for our daughter?" Andromeda demanded, rising from her chair with fluid Black family grace. "What are you saying about her abilities?"
"I'm saying she's far more extraordinary than even you realized," Lucifer replied seriously. "Metamorphmagi are rare enough—perhaps one in ten thousand magical births. But one who can instinctively connect with divine energy? That's virtually unheard of in any species."
His expression grew more solemn. "It also means that if you remain in this world, she'll eventually attract attention from people who collect rare magical abilities for their own purposes. Divine-touched magic is incredibly valuable to those who understand its potential."
"And in your world?" Ted asked, his voice tight with protective concern.
"In my world, she'd be under my protection," Lucifer said simply. "Along with everyone else who chooses to come with us. I take care of my own, and I have a very expansive definition of family."
From outside, the sound of additional Apparitions announced more arrivals. This time, however, the magical signatures were different—more powerful, more numerous, and distinctly authoritative.
Ted peered through the curtains again, his expression growing grim. "Ministry response team. Multiple Aurors, couple of Unspeakables, and..." His face went pale. "Dumbledore. With McGonagall."
"How delightful," Lucifer said with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "I was wondering when the old man would make his dramatic entrance. He does so love a good confrontation, doesn't he?"
"How did they find us?" Alice asked, her hand moving instinctively toward her wand. "The house is under Fidelius Charm—only people we trust should be able to locate it."
"Fidelius Charms are excellent protection against mortals," Lucifer replied mildly, adjusting his cufflinks with casual precision. "Rather less effective against beings who predate your species by several billion years. I imagine Professor Dumbledore also has access to some rather impressive tracking spells."
"Plus," Maze added with obvious relish, "we're not exactly being subtle. Dimensional portals tend to leave signatures that anyone with decent magical training can follow."
The front door rattled under an authoritative knock, and Dumbledore's familiar voice called out with less warmth than usual: "Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, I know you're in there, and I know you're harboring some very dangerous individuals. Please open the door so we can discuss this situation rationally."
"Dangerous individuals?" Maze repeated with delighted amusement. "Oh, I like that. Much more accurate than 'mysterious strangers' or 'helpful guardian angels.'"
"What do we do?" Ted asked quietly, looking around the room at his family and friends.
"We leave," Lily said firmly, rising with Harry still in her arms. "Right now, before they can try to stop us or convince us we're making a mistake."
"I'm afraid that option has been temporarily removed from the table," came a gravelly voice from the kitchen doorway.
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody limped into the sitting room, his magical eye spinning wildly as it took in the supernatural beings, the dimensional portal, and the collection of families preparing to abandon their world entirely. His scarred face was grim but determined, and his wand was held with the casual competence of a man who'd survived more Dark wizards than anyone had a right to encounter.
"Alastor," Sirius said with dangerous quiet, his hand moving toward the Elder Wand with the fluid grace of Black family training. "I'd strongly advise you not to do this."
"Do what, Black?" Moody's laugh was harsh as winter wind. "My job? Stop a group of traumatized people from making potentially catastrophic decisions based on grief and desperation?"
"Stop grieving families from seeking safety for their children," Amelia corrected sharply, her voice carrying all the authority of her position. "Stop people who've already sacrificed everything for this war from choosing their own path forward."
"You call this choosing your own path?" Moody gestured at Lucifer with obvious distrust. "Running away with entities we know absolutely nothing about? Trusting the word of beings whose motivations we can't begin to understand?"
"We understand enough," Frank said tiredly, shifting Neville to his other arm. "We understand they saved Harry Potter when our side failed to protect him. We understand they're offering our children a chance at normal lives."
"Normal?" Moody's magical eye fixed on Harry with unsettling intensity. "You think anything involving the Devil himself is going to be normal? You think there won't be consequences for this? Prices to be paid?"
Before anyone could answer, Dumbledore's voice rose from outside, carrying clear magical amplification: "I'm going to count to ten, and then we're coming in whether you invite us or not. One... two..."
"How very dramatic," Lucifer observed with amusement. "Does he practice that in mirrors, do you think? The whole 'ominous countdown' routine?"
"Boss," Maze said quietly, her voice taking on that particular edge that meant violence was about to become a possibility. "We've got a dozen Aurors, two Unspeakables, Dumbledore, and McGonagall in standard containment formation outside. They're not planning to hurt anyone yet, but they're definitely planning to prevent anyone from leaving."
"Three... four..."
"Right then," Lucifer said briskly, moving toward the center of the room with purposeful grace. "Time for our grand exit. Everyone stay close to the children, and whatever happens, don't let go of them."
"Five... six..."
The golden light began to intensify around the dimensional portal, reality starting to bend and warp as Lucifer prepared to expand the rift. Harry clapped his hands in delight at the pretty lights, while Neville made encouraging baby noises that sounded suspiciously like applause.
"Seven... eight..."
"Wait!" Tonks said suddenly, her hair shifting to a worried blue as she looked up at the adults around her. "What about my gran? And Uncle Sirius's cousin Bellatrix? And all the other people we care about who might want to come too?"
"We'll come back for anyone who chooses freedom over manipulation," Lucifer promised, his voice gentle despite the growing magical chaos around them. "This isn't a one-time offer, young one. Anyone who wants to leave will always have a place with us."
"Nine..."
The portal began to tear fully open, golden light spilling through the sitting room like liquid starfire. Through the dimensional rift, they could see glimpses of another world—tall buildings stretching toward star-filled skies, palm trees swaying in warm ocean breezes, and the distant sound of jazz music drifting on desert wind.
"Ten."
The front door didn't just open—it exploded.
Wood and metal scattered like confetti as the barrier simply disintegrated under the combined magical force of a dozen trained Aurors. Through the smoking doorway strode Albus Dumbledore, his phoenix feather wand raised and his blue eyes blazing with the kind of righteous fury that had made him legend. His long silver beard and hair whipped around him as magical energy crackled in the air, and for a moment he looked less like a kindly grandfather and more like the wizard who had single-handedly ended Grindelwald's reign of terror.
Behind him came the full force of the Ministry's magical law enforcement—Aurors with their wands drawn and expressions of grim determination, Unspeakables in their anonymous black robes, and bringing up the rear, Professor McGonagall with her lips pressed into the thin line that every Hogwarts student had learned to fear.
"Stop!" Dumbledore commanded, his voice carrying the full weight of his considerable magical power and moral authority. "You cannot take these people! They have responsibilities here, duties to fulfill, obligations that cannot simply be abandoned!"
"The only obligation any of us have," Lily replied with steel in her voice, stepping toward the portal with Harry secure in her arms, "is to protect our children from people who see them as acceptable casualties in other people's wars. Something you failed spectacularly to do when it actually mattered."
"Mrs. Potter, please," McGonagall stepped forward, her stern expression softened by genuine concern and barely concealed grief. "You're making a grave mistake. These beings, whatever they claim to be, cannot be trusted with the welfare of our children. Harry's place is here, among his own people, where he belongs."
"His own people," Sirius said with icy precision, "got his father killed. His own people were perfectly willing to let a baby die if it served their precious greater good. His own people treated him like a weapon to be aimed at their enemies rather than a child to be protected."
"That's not true!" Dumbledore protested, his composure cracking slightly. "Everything I have done, every decision I have made, has been in service of protecting—"
"Protecting your plans," Lucifer interrupted with pleasant venom, finally turning his full attention to the elderly wizard. "Your vision of how the world should function, your carefully orchestrated greater good that always seems to require other people's children to die for it."
Dumbledore stared at him with undisguised wariness and growing recognition. The power radiating from Lucifer was unlike anything in his considerable experience—older than magic itself, beautiful as sunrise, and absolutely without mercy for those who harmed innocents.
"And what are you protecting?" Dumbledore demanded, his voice sharpening with challenge and desperation. "What do you gain from taking these families away from their world, from their responsibilities?"
"The satisfaction of helping families stay together," Lucifer replied with simple honesty that somehow made it more damning than any accusation. "The knowledge that these children will grow up safe and loved instead of being groomed as sacrificial offerings for your cosmic chess games."
"You speak of cosmic chess games as if you're not a player yourself!" Dumbledore snapped, his legendary patience finally beginning to fray. "You're Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil himself! Everything you do serves some greater purpose, some grand design of rebellion and chaos!"
"The only grand design I serve," Lucifer said, his voice dropping to that dangerous quiet that made reality itself hold its breath, "is free will. The revolutionary concept that people should be allowed to choose their own destinies without interference from self-appointed saviors who know what's best for everyone."
His eyes began to glow with inner fire, and suddenly everyone in the room could see glimpses of what he truly was—vast wings that cast shadows deeper than eternity, beauty so perfect and terrible that looking at it was almost unbearable, power that made the air itself prostrate in reverence and terror.
"You want to discuss grand designs, Professor?" Lucifer continued, his voice now echoing with harmonics that seemed to come from the spaces between stars. "Let's talk about prophecies that doom children to lives of pain and sacrifice before they can even walk. Let's discuss manipulating young people into fighting wars they never chose, dying for causes they barely understand. Let's examine this greater good of yours that always seems to demand the suffering of the innocent while the architects sit safely in their towers, making plans."
The temperature in the room had dropped noticeably, and frost was beginning to form on the windows despite the October weather outside.
"The prophecy—" Dumbledore began desperately.
"Is finished," Lucifer cut him off with absolute finality. "Tom Marvolo Riddle is dead, his soul scattered across the cosmic winds like ash from a funeral pyre. Harry Potter is free to choose his own path, and I intend to make certain he has that choice."
"You cannot simply take them!" one of the Aurors protested, his voice higher than he'd probably intended. "They're British magical citizens! They have legal obligations to the Ministry!"
"To a Ministry that failed to protect them," Amelia Bones said with crisp authority, speaking for the first time since the confrontation began. "To a government that was infiltrated so thoroughly by Death Eaters that a baby had to rely on the Devil himself for rescue. As head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I'm formally rescinding any legal obligations these individuals may have. They're free to leave."
"Director Bones," Dumbledore said with obvious shock, "you cannot simply—"
"I can and I am," Amelia interrupted with professional certainty. "This falls under my jurisdiction, not yours, Dumbledore. And frankly, after tonight's revelations about our intelligence failures, our compromised security, and the complete breakdown of our protection protocols, I think these families have every right to seek safety wherever they can find it."
The dimensional portal was fully stable now, golden light streaming through it like a river of liquid hope. One by one, their little group began moving toward it—Lily with Harry, the Longbottoms with Neville, the Tonks family holding hands, Remus clutching his meager possessions.
"Please," Dumbledore said, and for the first time his voice carried genuine desperation rather than authority. "Don't do this. The wizarding world needs these people. Harry especially—he's our symbol of hope, our proof that good can triumph over evil when we stand together!"
"Harry Potter," Lucifer said with quiet intensity, "is a fifteen-month-old child who deserves to grow up happy and safe, not a symbol for your propaganda machine. He's not a weapon, not a savior, not a rallying cry for your cause. He's a little boy who just lost his father and deserves better than being used by adults who should bloody well know better."
"And if another Dark Lord rises?" McGonagall asked with obvious anguish. "If our world faces new threats that we cannot handle alone?"
"Then you'll handle them the same way every generation has," Lucifer replied with serene confidence. "With courage, determination, and the understanding that freedom is worth fighting for. But you won't sacrifice children to achieve it. Not these children. Not on my watch."
Sirius was the last to approach the portal, still carrying James Potter's body with infinite care and reverence. He paused at the threshold of dimensions, looking back at Dumbledore with something that might have been pity.
"You know what the real tragedy is, Dumbledore?" he said quietly, his aristocratic voice carrying the weight of Black family pride and devastating loss. "James would have forgiven you for this. Even for getting him killed, even for all your manipulation and games, he would have found a way to forgive you and move forward. That's the kind of man he was—stupid enough to believe in redemption even for people who didn't deserve it."
His gray eyes hardened with cold finality. "But I'm not James Potter. I don't believe in your greater good anymore. I don't trust your judgment. And I sure as hell won't let you get your hands on Harry to turn him into whatever weapon you're planning for the next war."
He stepped toward the portal, then paused one final time. "Oh, and Dumbledore? You might want to reconsider your recruitment strategies. When the people fighting your war would rather trust the Devil himself than follow your orders... that should tell you something about your methods."
With that elegant parting shot, Sirius Black stepped through the dimensional rift and vanished into golden light.
"Wait!" Dumbledore lunged forward, his Elder Wand—hastily retrieved from Hogwarts after Sirius's theft—raised and crackling with desperate magical energy. Some combination of binding and summoning spells gathered at its tip, raw power that could potentially drag the refugees back through the closing portal.
Lucifer caught the spell on his bare hand, the magical energy dissipating like morning mist against the sun. The casual ease with which he neutralized Dumbledore's most powerful magic was more terrifying than any display of supernatural force could have been.
"Professor Dumbledore," he said with infinite patience, as if speaking to a particularly slow student, "I'm trying very hard to be civilized here. Don't make me reconsider that approach."
"You're destroying everything!" Dumbledore shouted, his legendary composure finally shattering completely. "Decades of careful preparation, years of planning, the entire foundation of our post-war world!"
"Plans built on manipulation and sacrifice," Lucifer replied with cold precision. "Preparation that treated children like game pieces in your personal war against evil. Your grand design, Professor, required the deaths of good people to function properly. I'm simply offering an alternative that doesn't come with quite so high a body count."
He moved toward the portal with unhurried grace, pausing only to address the assembled Ministry officials one final time.
"For what it's worth," he said conversationally, "most of you are genuinely good people trying to do the right thing under impossible circumstances. But you've been following the wrong leader, trusting in plans that were doomed from the moment they prioritized victory over protecting innocents. Perhaps it's time to consider a different approach—one that doesn't require quite so many martyrs."
The portal began to close as Lucifer stepped through it, reality sealing itself back together like water flowing back into its proper channels. The last thing any of them saw was his amused smile and a casual wave goodbye, as if he were leaving a particularly dull dinner party rather than stealing away the wizarding world's greatest hope.
Then they were gone, leaving behind only an empty sitting room, the lingering scent of sulfur and possibility, and the echo of choices made and prices paid.
Dumbledore stood in the sudden silence, his wand trembling in his grip, staring at the space where his carefully constructed future had just walked away with the Devil himself.
"Sir?" one of the younger Aurors ventured hesitantly. "What do we do now?"
Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment, looking every one of his hundred and fifteen years. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Now? Now we learn to live with the consequences of our choices. And perhaps..." His blue eyes, usually so bright with confidence and purpose, were dim with something approaching despair. "Perhaps we consider whether the price of our victories was worth what we paid for them."
Outside, the first light of dawn was beginning to paint the eastern horizon in shades of gold and rose. A new day was beginning in the wizarding world—a day without prophecies, without chosen ones, without the crushing weight of cosmic destiny pressing down on the shoulders of children who deserved better.
---
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